Monday, July 31, 2006

The day camp Meg works at was holding a camp off-site this week; Meg was scheduled to work it. Due to the distance – it would take her a good hour to get to camp in the morning – I invited her to stay with me. The off-site camp is only 20 minutes from my place.

Plus, it would be fun. Like when we were little and we pretended we were college roommates!

She followed me home after our soccer game last night. We stopped for dinner before coming back to my apartment and unloading a week’s worth of her belongings.

Sharing my bed with her was a little strange. Not that we’ve never slept in the same bed before (we did as recently as last weekend), I’m just not used to having someone in my bed.

I left before she got up this morning.

And called her from work to make sure she’d gotten to her job okay.

We talked on my way to my lesson with my skating coach. I listed off things she could do to pass the time until I got home. Go to the gym. Lay by the pool. Make the macaroni and cheese we’re going to have for dinner. Watch TV. Stop by the mall.

She called me back five minutes later.

The enrollments at the camp she was scheduled to work were down. They decided to bring her back to the main camp. She could go home.

I’m not going to lie: I was bummed.

But I told her to go straight home. It wasn’t worth waiting until I got back from my skating lesson.

When I did get back home, I made a beeline for my bedroom. And my bed was made! Meggie made my bed! Meggie never makes her bed! Meggie knows that I like when my bed is made!

Adorable.

And then, I went into the kitchen, and my macaroni and cheese was waiting for me!

How fucking cute is that? She made me my mac and cheese.

I wanted to cry.

And then I noticed that she’d taken half of the try home for herself, and I wanted to laugh.

And then I caught a glimpse of the sink, piled high with the dishes that she had no desire to do, and I nearly peed my pants.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

1. Meg is spending the entire week at my apartment.2. Lessons with skating coach.3. Yoga class, which better take some of the knots out of my shoulders or I may injure my instructor.4. Go on a date with that nice Jewish boy. Hopefully.5. Mad preparations for Lucy's wedding shower.6. Lucy's wedding shower.7. Soccer game following wedding shower.8. Complete at least one Sudoku puzzle and paint my nails at a minimum of one time while one company time.8. Make plans to fly to NYC for an interview. BECAUSE THAT CHUMP I INTERVIEWED WITH BETTER FRIGGING CALL ME BACK.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

I've been super-great at getting over Colin lately. Like, when we were supposed to go out two weekends ago and I (accidentally) stood him up to go to dinner with my family. And didn't feel bad about it.

I rarely call him anymore. We used to email every day at work - but it's more like a once per week thing now. Communication with him just isn't the priority and the highlight of my day like it used to be.

We emailed a bit at work today, though. I mentioned that I'd be at Mom and Dad's tonight. Told him that he should call me if he wanted to do anything.

And now it's an hour after he was supposed to get off of work and I haven't heard from him and I'm bummed. It's stupid. It's only an hour - he could still call - and I'm supposed to be over him and his mind games and his indecision, anyway.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

I haven’t heard from the man I interviewed with last Friday. He told me that he would probably call me on Wednesday or Thursday and, well, Friday is rapidly approaching. I’m nervous. Anxious. Either way, I would just like to know.

I want to get the ball rolling.

I need to leave my job.

There have been a memorable handful of events that have made me realize that I need a new job. And, in my week of rage following however I was wronged, I looked for a job. But I never really looked.

Maybe it’s a little much, hoping that I’ll know where I’m going by then. But I’m still going to do it. I’m going to let myself hope.

And try to keep myself really, really organized.

And throw Lucy a wedding shower (next weekend!).And play soccer (every Sunday).And watch a lot of Grey’s Anatomy (just started watching...am mostly addicted).And go to the gym (I can’t not).And spend a lot of time with my sister (she’s spending next week at my apartment).And maybe go on that date (I called him yesterday – we’re shooting for sometime next week).

I'm going to send them with the president of our dysfunctional company when he's at my building on Thursday.

I cannot quite determine why I'm doing this.

Part of me thinks that it's sort of a peace offering. "I can't bring myself to email you back and pretend like I don't think you're a heartless skank, but here are some CDs!"

Part of me thinks that it's a fun way to fuck with her head. "I will refuse all communication with you, but I will send you gifts. What do I really think of you? You'll never know. Please, honey, let that drive you crazy indefinitely."

It went well, actually. I liked the man who interviewed me – he wasn’t just an HR screener after all, but someone I’d actually be working for – and he seemed to like me. Conversation ended with a “I need to check everyone’s schedule and I’ll call you later in the week and we’ll figure out a time that you can come in” instead of a “well, thanks for your time. We’ll let you know,” so I’m optimistic.

Have I mentioned that Carrie graduated two years before me? 7-10 years my ass.

Technically, she’s staying in her original job and splitting this new one with another person. A guy who was hired into an entry-level position well after I was. Who graduated from “college” (if you can call where he went college) the same year as I did. Again, 7-10 years my ass. This kid doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re. Sweet. Swell. Etc.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

No secret: I'm hard on myself. About absolutely everything. You all know this. It is probably the reason you read my blog. "What's that silly girl hating herself about today? Did she put a lid on crooked?"

Self-hate of the day: I'm not going to the gym.

My body is aching. From my belly button down, I hurt. Lower back (where I always have trouble), hips (ditto), knees, shins, ankles, toes. I'm shuffling along like an old lady. Soccer sucked the life from me on Sunday; skating yesterday just make every pain worse.

I could use a rest.

Still, I'm pissed at myself because I've decided not to go to the gym.

Monday, July 17, 2006

To prove to myself that my brain is capable of higher thinking, despite being severely dehydrated and resembling a petrified log, I will summarize my weekend in great and interesting detail for you all to marvel.

Prepare to be amazed.

On Friday night, I took a yoga class. I went home feeling stretchy, I watched a bit of The Simple Life and then I probably went to bed. (It is difficult, in case any of you were wondering, living this jet setting lifestyle.)

I had to work for a few hours on Saturday. Gay. I hate this job.

Before I worked, however, I drove 70 minutes to skate/take a lesson from my coach. So, I was on the ice at 8:15. I am mentally ill. But it was a good lesson. We made some progress. I kicked some ass. It was nice.

Then there was the work thing. I sat here for a while and my brain melted.

I went to Mammy and Pappy’s house. Ate everything in sight while watching World Series of Pop Culture on VH1. Then there was a little swimming, a little lounging in the sunshine, and then off to dinner at the country club.

Thus dumping the plans I had with Colin.

Oops.

Whatever. I am not heartbroken. Normally, we don’t go out until 10:00 pm anyway. How was I supposed to know he was planning for 8:00? His ego can take a bruise or two, as far as I am concerned.

My Sunday started out on the deck. I baked my skin for three glorious hours. Very intelligent, as I was due to run in the sun for two hours later in the day. But it was still nice. And I didn’t even get burned!

I went inside around noon. I baked a batch of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies (my faaaaavorite) and then fixed tacos for lunch.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Hey there. How are you? I wanted to let you know - in case you haven't heard it from anyone else - I am going back to (insert company here). But I didn't know if you would be interested in putting your hat in for this job with (company where she couldn't hack it). It reminded me of your experience in Denver with that program. If you have any interest, please let me know and I can get you the information and fill you in more on the job, etc.

I'm going to have a little pride and delete this email without responding.

If I did email her back, these are a few points I would absolutely have to make:

1. Like I hadn't heard about your crawling back to your old job.2. And like I would even consider enlisting your help to land a job that you couldn't handle.3. I cannot imagine that the company that you're abandoning (or "didn't fit" at or was "terminated" from) really wants to take your advice on the hiring of your replacement.4. Am totally done with your sloppy seconds, anyhow.5. I will never again eat a meal with you by my own volition. Especially Thai, my favorite, which I have no doubt that you would ruin forever.6. Why do you think that you'd like Thai food, anyway? All you eat is ranch dressing.7. I HATE YOUR HAIRCUT AND I HAVE HATED IT SINCE THE FIRST TIME I SAW IT.8. Good luck finding a goalie for your hockey team next year.9. I feel better now. You suck. Goodbye.

So I am officially out of options at my current company. There is nowhere for me to move except to another company. I’m out of options for advancement. I need to suck it up and move on.

It blows. Michigan’s economy is in the shitter right now. I doubt, despite my work experience and my fancy-schmancy degree, my ability to find new employment within the state.

Which leads us back to The Great Mystery of the Big Move.

God. I feel like a dog chasing his damn tail.

Didn’t we already go through this? Haven’t we done this, like, 19timesover? Don’t I bitch incessantly about my fear of moving away from the familiar just before I stumble over an inferior, safe opportunity that I jump to take?

Maybe this is different. Hopefully this is different. I had five résumés and cover letters sent by noon today. I have six more on the docket for tomorrow.

All eleven are out of the state.

I’m feeling brave.

Saturday taught me that I don’t have to be restricted to the people already in my life. That I am capable of opening myself up to so many more. That opening myself up doesn’t dilute me – it makes who I am stronger.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Aviva’s brother’s wedding was on Saturday night. I didn’t really want to go, but Aviva reallyreallyreally wanted me to come and I’m lousy at saying no.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that bad.

It helped that I was wearing a rockin’ dress and that my hair (which Meg did for me) was super cute. The fun factor was also upped by the absence of a head table, thus allowing me to sit with Aviva (who was a bridesmaid) and the fact that I got to dance to Hava Nagila for the first time.

The first time that I can recall, anyway. Aviva grabbed my hand and said “welcome to your first Jewish wedding” and pulled me to the dance floor.

I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t sure if it actually was my first Jewish wedding (I grew up in an area with a lot of Jewish families) but the music was far too loud. So I just went with the flow.

And continued going with it all night.

Normally, I am painfully good at being excessively shy and self-conscious. I hang back. I’m a watcher.

On Saturday night, though, I was more of a doer. Dancing, not watching the dance floor. Talking, not just listening. I was Every Girl, not Quiet, Standoffish Girl and that, my friends, was a welcome change from the status quo.

Aviva’s brother is just two years older than we are; lots of his friends were at the wedding.

I sat next to one of his buddies, Dan. So we’re talking and – woah! – the business Dave owns is close to my apartment.

“There aren’t a lot of Jews on the east side,” he says.

“Well.” I smiled. “Actually, I’m not Jewish.”

“Oh. Uh. I’m sorry. That was sort of foolish of me to assume, I just...”

“No big deal.”

Like I said, I come from an area with a fairly large Jewish population. And, while most of the Jews I know aren’t particularly religious, they are very much culturally Jewish. They might not don’t go to temple all that often, but their social circle consists almost entirely of other Jews. Their parents expect them to date and marry Jewish; they expect the same.

Regardless of his background, Dan must not have been too disappointed by our lack of shared religion. He asked me to dance at least five times over the course of the evening. I didn’t refuse his invitation once.

And then there was Justin. A law student. Who also asked me to dance. Who was very cute. And sweet. And have I mentioned that he will be a lawyer just in one short year? And that I’m easily impressed?

At the brunch Aviva’s parents held on Sunday morning, Aviva caught him talking with a friend. “Did Dan get her number?” the friend asked Justin.

Aviva couldn’t help but butt in. “Are you talking about my friend Alyson?”

They were.

Justin admitted it and proceeded to ask her for my phone number. He goes to law school in Washington D.C., but he’ll be home for at least another month.

Hmmmmm.

Aviva told him about the little Jewish assumption Dan had made. Justin mentioned that he didn’t think that Dan was the type to actually care. Then he made it clear that it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Aviva gave him my phone number and promised that she’d call me to give me the heads-up.

So now I know that he might be calling.

And that Dan dug me, too.

I don’t care if nothing happens. I won’t mind if Justin never calls.

Colin is the only boy who has ever really been into me. The only one who has ever made a legitimate effort. So, I guess it’s just nice to think that he isn’t the only one.

Monday, July 10, 2006

There is a gaping hole in my heart this Monday morning after the World Cup finals.

My life is over.

No more watching games from my desk. No more rousing games of "Rate the Best Looking Team." No more office pools. No more passing hour upon glorious hour with endless World Cup media consumption.

Sob.

Today, I begin planning for South Africa 2010.

While discussing this, of course, with everyone who has heard of the incident and is looking for my expert opinion:

Sometimes, in the midst of competition, you do really stupid shit (see: grass throwing incident and yellow card of last month). But a head butt? Probably a little extreme there, Zinédine Zidane.

Although, I've heard rumors that a racial slur might have been what set Zidane off. Considering his background and the team's history and all of that, it seems feasible. But maybe he just lost his composure.

Whatever the reason...

I'm really getting a thrill out of threatening to head butt people. The vicious head butt has really taken on a whole new meaning.

Friday, July 07, 2006

My company's finances are tight in the summertime. It's the nature of the business. When the weather is warm, the money just doesn't flow in. It's expected.

I know that things are tight. Our controller, who we rarely heard of September through May, now calls almost daily to check the amount of money we deposited that day. Vendors who have never had a problem being paid before have mentioned that payments are past due. Way later than they've ever been.

And that is why I am concerned.

Today is payday and my checking account, which has always reflected my direct deposit at midnight on payday, hasn't been credited.

Neither has anyone else's.

And paychecks, sent overnight from corporate, haven't arrived.

Yikes.

Update 1:07 pm So our paychecks came at 10:00 this morning. I tore into mine, thinking that they might've cut us all checks instead of direct depositing because of the money crunch. Wrong. All I had was my pay stub. Hmmmm.

I call Corporate to point out the problem. They know. The payroll company screwed something up. "We're trying to track down our representative at the payroll company." Uh huh. Sure.

10 minutes later, the company controller calls. He tells me to take all of the checks that were overnighted to me and shred them.

"On second thought, he said, don't shred them. Just lock them in your desk."

I am told that paychecks will come in the afternoon. Everyone, including those who are enrolled in direct deposit, will get a hard check.

Tell me that isn't sketchy.

I'd bet the paycheck that is supposedly coming that this has nothing to do with the payroll company and everything to do with a lack of funds.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

If one more person asks me about the job I interviewed for, I will poke them in the gums. Yes, initially, I was told that I could hear as early as today. But my interviewer backed out on that statement, pointing out that he had interviews lined up for yesterday and that he was scheduled for a business trip this weekend.

I was perfectly content to wait until next Wednesday or so. But now I’m nervous and paranoid. Gee, how lovely. I love anxiety.

At the same time, though, I love not knowing. My ignorance is a license to daydream. To take on projects at my current position that I’m not certain I will finish. To drive by apartments near Corporate and tuck their existence into the back of my head. To consider how much a move west would help out my relationship with Colin. To glance at the kickboxing and yoga schedules at the branch of my gym that I’d go to. To buy a new business card holder and imagine new cards inside of it. To plan a new, Really Important Girl wardrobe. To be excited, if not a little naïve, about what the future may bring.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

My dad’s country club put on an awesome fireworks display last Thursday night, no doubt about it. But it was missing something. I didn’t even realize what it was until tonight.

Home.

The area I grew up in is known for its plethora of lakes. Everyone I went to high school either grew up on a lake or had at least five friends who did.

Lakes are a good home base for fireworks, I suppose, because the skies light up here on the Fourth like no place I have ever been.

Tonight I pulled Meg out of her bedroom and wrapped us each in a blanket. Our blankets. We padded down to the lake - our lake - in bare feet and sat on a bench overlooking the water. Directly to our north was the display that the conservation club across the lake puts on annually. To the west was another professional-grade fireworks show that we could see over the trees. At the east were more fireworks – amateur, I would guess, and illegal. In Michigan, all but the tamest fireworks are illegal; many drive to Indiana periodically to stock up.

I like that they are loud and beautiful.

Loud because they drown out my brain, which chatters its loudest in familiar places. At home. Beautiful because, when I can hear myself think again, my thoughts are happy. Optimistic. A change from the status quo.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Thursday night I went with my family and my little cousins Max and Paige to my dad’s new country club for their annual Fireworks/Barbeque/Only Day All Year You Can Wear Jeans Night.

Meg likes the fireworks that are sparkly and make the satisfying sizzle noise.

Paige likes the ones that trail down slowly. The ones that give you a chance if you happen to sneeze at the wrong second.

Max likes the big and high ones.

...which may be all of them. I am not sure.

I didn’t get back to my apartment until midnight. I wasn’t asleep until 12:30. I really hated the world at 5:20 am when my alarm clock went off. But that’s okay. Exhaustion can be very worth it.

I drove back to Mom and Dad’s house on Friday night. Mom had scheduled an appointment for us at Dream Dinners, one of those nifty meal assembly places, to make 12 meals of yummy and healthy goodness. Mom had gone once before, really liked the meals that she made, and realized that she could significantly cut down the prep time if she brought me and Meg, too.

Aunt Marie was supposed to go, too, but she had surgery on her bad ankle on Friday morning (please, everyone, pray for no infection this time) and was still in the hospital. So, we brought Grandma the Troll along with us. It took us an hour and a half to make all 24 meals, all sealed up and marked with cooking labels and ready to go in the freezer at home, which is quite amazing. Plus, its surprisingly reasonably priced, the meat is of a really high quality and the meals that I’ve had (from Mom’s first try at it) I certainly approve of. It’s a good thing. ...especially for my Aunt Marie.

Yesterday was Meg’s birthday party.

I got up early for breakfast with Lucy, the very harried last-minute bride who is reaching the period of peak demand of her job. Unfortunately, she’ll be busy at work all summer. Will I ever get a bridesmaid dress? I doubt it.

Upon returning home, it was a few chores for the party before gluing my ass to the couch for the England v. Portugal World Cup match. Was cheering for England, mostly on account of my future husband, David Beckham, but I had picked Portugal to win in my office pool – so the result didn’t really matter to me one way or another. Fascinating game to watch, though. Thought I was going to have a heart attack during the penalty kicks.

The party was wild and festive, just like it is every year. My dad’s entire family. My mom’s entire family (minus my Aunt Louise’s family, in Chicago, and my psycho Uncle Alan and his new wife, who were there visiting her). Lots of food. Lots of swimming. A dance party on the deck. Fireworks. Three cakes. Typical Meg. She loves celebrating her birthday. Did get to see the majority of the Brazil v. France game, too. Love Zinedine Zidane as well as a good upset, so I was happy for Les Bleus.

He missed most of the party, but Colin came over for fireworks and socializing. Glorious. My family fucking loves him. (Although, I think it kills my dad that he doesn’t drink Canadian beer – which is all Dad will drink). It’s always very comfortable. I couldn’t appreciate that enough.

Today, we’re celebrating Meg’s birthday by going to the new Ikea store that’s just opened in Detroit. Will buy super-cute favors for Lucy’s wedding shower. Must restrain myself from buying anything big for my apartment as, if all turns out how I wish, I will be leasing a new apartment due to my new job in the very near future. ...let us all cross our fingers and pray.

Hi. I'm A.

Born, raised, educated in the Midwest, I am such a Midwesterner. So Midwestern, if you will.

I am: a blogger of 8+ years, forever searching for my next athletic challenge, hopelessly overscheduled and always, always eating.

I started So Midwestern right after I graduated from college, hoping to chronicle my transition to adulthood. Graduate school, four half marathons, two new nephews, three apartments, a trip to Africa, a sprinkle of heartbreak, dozens of unfinished knitting projects, four turns as a bridesmaid, 8,913 job applications and two full-time positions later: I’m fairly convinced that the day when I feel like a legitimate, full-fledged grownup will never come. So I’ll just keep on blogging.

I write about a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing. Toss my ramblings with a few pictures, a touch of swearing and an endless appreciation for the beauty that is David Beckham and you have So Midwestern. Welcome.